Beauty's Beast(7)

But as much as he yearned to explore the lush hills and valleys of her body, he could never allow her to learn the contours of his own. The risk of discovery, of rejection, was far too great, but even greater was the risk of letting himself care, as he had come to care for Dominique. . . .

Remorse seared his heart and soul as her image rose in his mind: Dominique, writhing in agony as her body sought to expel his child; Dominique lying still and white on bloodstained linen; Dominique, her wide blue eyes glazed with pain and empty of life.

Ruthlessly, he thrust the memories from him. He would not think of her now, nor hopefully, ever again, though he doubted that was possible. Instead, he focused on the bed he had left and the young woman who had awaited him there.

He would go to her again tomorrow night, and every night, until she was breeding, and then he would not touch her again.

He would return to the hunting lodge located high in the hills to the south and stay there until one of the women brought word that his wife had been delivered of a healthy child.

And then, his duty done, he would put an end to his life, and with it an end to his guilt, and his pain, and the hideous curse that, in its infancy, had made grown men turn away in revulsion and caused women to flee in horror.





Kristine sat with her back against the carved headboard, the thick woolen blankets pulled up to her chin. Staring into the inky blackness that engulfed the room, she fought the urge to weep. This had been her bridal night. She had not expected love nor sweet words nor tenderness from the enigmatic stranger she had wed, but neither had she expected him to take her with such blatant disregard for her feelings.

She sighed into the darkness. In truth, she hadn’t known what to expect. She had never bedded a man—had, in fact, killed the man who had tried to take her by force. Ironic, that she should marry a man who had, in his own way, been more brutal than Lord Valentine.

He was a strange one, was Erik Trevayne. He had said he wanted nothing from her but a child. The bowels of a filthy prison seemed a strange place to look for a bride. But then, perhaps he didn’t like women, didn’t want a wife to share his life, but only a fertile belly in which to plant his seed. Strange, how that thought hurt.

She wondered what lay beneath the glove he had worn, why he hid himself from her in the dark, why he would not allow her to see him or touch him. She knew little of the marriage act, but surely it was not usually accomplished with the man fully clothed. What was he hiding?

Perhaps the rumors regarding the Demon Lord of Hawksbridge Castle were true after all. He had certainly taken her like a beast. She felt her anger rise, fueled by hurt and disappointment as her girlish dreams of love and happily-ever-after evaporated like morning dew.

Despair settled over her. She was his wife now, his property, the same as his lands and his horse. As such, she was subject to his every whim. He could do with her whatsoever he wished. He could abuse her, beat her, even kill her, and no one would say a word against him. Why had she let herself think she might find a measure of joy in this union  , that he might come to love her? Surely no normal man went hunting for a bride inside prison walls. What a ninny she had been to think she might find happiness in this huge old castle with a stranger. Her determination to make the best of her marriage suddenly seemed ludicrous.

Overcome by a wave of self-pity and remorse, she pulled the covers over her head and cried herself to sleep.





The two silent women attended her in the morning. One brought warm water so she might bathe while the other stripped the soiled linen from the bed. Kristine felt her cheeks flush when she saw the dark brownish-red stain on the rumpled white sheets, visible evidence that the marriage had been consummated, that she had come to her husband pure and undefiled.

After she bathed, the women powdered her, then dressed her in a luxurious gown of deep green velvet. Nodding their approval, they curtsied and left the room.

Kristine stood there for a moment, fingering the ragged edges of her hair and wondering what was expected of her now. At length, she put on a white ruffled cap trimmed with green ribbon and left the room, slowly making her way down the narrow stairway to the first floor. The aroma of freshly baked bread drew her toward the back of the building.

A tall, painfully thin woman wearing a blue dress and a crisp white apron hurried to meet Kristine as she stepped into the kitchen.

“My lady, what are you doing in here?”

“I’m hungry. Is it all right if I fix something to eat?”

“Gracious, no! It’s not seemly for the lady of the house to be in the kitchen.” The woman made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go on with you, now, have a seat in the dining hall. I did not expect you down so early this morning. I shall bring your breakfast immediately.”